CHAPTER II

GROWING PAINS

I

The New York to which Barnum emigrated late in the winter of 1834 is a New York with which we must become acquainted. Its population was slightly more than 200,000, and Mrs. Martha J. Lamb in her _History of the City of New York_ deplored the overcrowding: “New York City by this time appeared like a youth much overgrown for his years. It had shot up with a rapidity that defied calculation. Wealth was increasing faster than sobriety was inclined to measure. Swarming multitudes from every quarter of the globe were rendering the community in a certain sense unformed.” In contrast to this picture of wild growth we can record that stage coaches were the only means of public conveyance, and the newfangled horse car was forcing its clattering way up one street on a single-tracked line, in spite of the opposition of the large majority, who preferred their safe and sure stage coaches. Broadway, according to Charles Dickens, who visited New York a few years after Barnum became a resident, was “a wide and bustling street, which, from the Battery Gardens to its opposite termination in a country road, may be four miles long,” and in Mrs. Lamb’s opinion “Washington Square was quite a long distance from the city.” The number of omnibuses surprised Dickens--“half-a-dozen have gone by within as many minutes”--and he was also impressed by the large-wheeled tilburies, the gigs, the phaetons, and the hackney coaches, by which the upper classes were carried about the city. But when Dickens crossed the wide and bustling street called Broadway, he found it necessary to look out for the pigs, who trotted clumsily behind the carriages and acted as the city scavengers.

The dress of the ladies interested Dickens just as much as it has interested visiting authors since. “Heaven save the ladies, how they dress!” he wrote. “We have seen more colors in these ten minutes than we should have seen elsewhere in as many days. What various parasols! what rainbow silks and satins! what pinking of thin stockings, and pinching of thin shoes, and fluttering of ribbons and silk tassels, and display of rich cloaks with gaudy hoods and linings!” Here was a community apparently awaiting a Barnum. The gaudy hoods and linings, the fluttering ribbons and rainbow silks and satins indicate a certain wealth and a taste for the gay and amusing. Barnum must have been conscious here in New York as he walked the streets and pondered how to support his wife and baby, of an atmosphere more favorable to his talents and their expression than the New England which he had just left, where the “pinking of thin stockings, and pinching of thin shoes” would have been punished by means of the whipping post, or at least with the jealous and shocked disdain of neighbors and the exclamatory menaces of the town clergyman. In the New York of 1835 to adorn the body and to divert the mind were not crimes, and a corresponding share of the trade and industry of the city were devoted to the satisfaction of those ends. Broadway had shops that were handsome enough to impress Mrs. Trollope, who found most of America new, brazen, and boring when it was not offensive. She also admired the uniform houses in the residential sections of the city where neat iron railings and pretty green blinds gave an impression of ease and luxury that she found nowhere else in the United States.

That New Yorkers of 1835 could be unrestrained in their enjoyments when the occasion was presented we know from the many accounts of the nature of New Year celebrations. James Gordon Bennett, the elder, wrote in the _New York Herald_: “We were sorry to see so much intoxication in our streets ... and it even extended into the Mayor’s office. In consequence of the improper behavior of many of his visitors, by which the carpets were completely ruined, he was compelled to close up and go home at one o’clock, and deprived many of the pleasure of seeing him.”

Soon after Barnum arrived in New York the city was almost destroyed by the largest fire in its early history. The fire started on a cold day, December 16, 1835, and burned steadily for three days because there was no efficient water supply, and the water available froze in the pipes. More than seven hundred buildings were turned to ruins, and almost all the insurance companies went into bankruptcy. Many mercantile establishments were forced out of business, and the banks suspended payment. It was during this fire that the _New York Herald_, founded in that same year by James Gordon Bennett, became popular. Cross-eyed James Gordon Bennett, owner, editor, and reporter for his new enterprise, went through the ruins of the fire with a note-book and gave New York its only vivid account of the results and causes of the disaster. This kept the _Herald_, which both in friendship and enmity was such a potent advertising medium for Barnum for many years, from almost certain bankruptcy, because the demand for the paper during the fire did not fall off afterwards, and a large advertising contract from Dr. Brandreth’s pills kept it alive. Times were hard, but the fire made them worse, and during the first five years of Barnum’s residence in New York the city, as well as the rest of the country, suffered great financial distress. President Jackson’s famous “specie circular” caused the government treasury to gather in all the gold of the country, and the result was a drastic panic, from which Barnum’s efforts must have suffered a severe check. In April, 1837, more than two hundred and fifty large New York business houses suspended payments, and every bank in the city did the same.

II

Barnum had no money worth mentioning when he arrived in New York. In Connecticut he had made large sums of money for his age and for his environment, but he had also spent large sums without any anxiety about his ability to continue to earn then. He sought in New York for an opportunity with a business organization, where he could share in the profits rather than work for a fixed salary. Business was bad, opportunities were limited, and Barnum found nothing to his taste. His money began to disappear, and his family was in ill health; in order to relieve immediate needs, he became a “drummer” in a cap store and watched the “Want” advertisements in _The Sun_. In his mind was the fixed idea that if he could get something to exhibit to the New York amusement-loving public, he would succeed. But, meanwhile, he answered advertisements of inventors and adventurers, always to discover that they wanted money immediately in order to produce it in the future. Barnum’s present was immediate in its demands, and he could not afford to consider a vague future, but his self-confidence in the face of hardship was great enough to enable him to refuse to bind himself for three years when he applied to William Niblo, proprietor of Niblo’s Garden, for the position as bartender at that establishment. Barnum did not get the position, for William Niblo, who was later one of Barnum’s good friends, insisted that his bartender must contract for three years of service. During the entire winter of 1834 he could find no work, except as commission agent for the cap store, which was not very profitable. In the spring of 1835 he received several hundred dollars of the debts owed to him in Bethel for groceries and lottery tickets, and with the money he opened a private boarding house at 52 Frankfort Street. The Connecticut transients stopped at Barnum’s when in New York, and soon Barnum and his wife had enough trade to enable him to capitalize his spare time by purchasing an interest in a grocery store.

Mr. Coley Bartram, of Redding, Connecticut, called at Barnum’s grocery store in July, 1835. He mentioned to Barnum that he had just sold his interest in an extraordinary negress, and he handed him a copy of _The Pennsylvania Inquirer_ for July 15, 1835, with the following advertisement:

“CURIOSITY.--The citizens of Philadelphia and its vicinity have an opportunity of witnessing at the Masonic Hall, one of the greatest natural curiosities ever witnessed, viz., JOICE HETH, a negress aged 161 years, who formerly belonged to the father of Gen. Washington. She has been a member of the Baptist Church one hundred and sixteen years, and can rehearse many hymns, and sing them according to former custom. She was born near the old Potomac River in Virginia, and has for ninety or one hundred years lived in Paris, Kentucky, with the Bowling family.

“All who have seen this extraordinary woman are satisfied of the truth of the account of her age. The evidence of the Bowling family, which is respectable, is strong, but the original bill of sale of Augustine Washington, in his own handwriting, and other evidence which the proprietor has in his possession, will satisfy even the most incredulous.

“A lady will attend at the hall during the afternoon and evening for the accommodation of those ladies who may call.”

Mr. Coley Bartram told Barnum that this extraordinary slave was now owned by R. W. Lindsay, who was exhibiting her in Philadelphia, but who did not have much ability as a showman and was therefore anxious to sell his purchase and return to his home in Jefferson County, Kentucky. Barnum was excited. He had read short paragraphs about this negress in the New York newspapers, and he had been interested, but this detailed description of her superb qualifications for his purposes enthralled him. He hurried to Philadelphia to look at Joice Heth, and he was “favorably impressed with the appearance of the old woman,” who “might almost as well have been called a thousand years old as any other age.” She was lying on a lounge, her lower extremities doubled up. She could move one of her arms, but the other was stiffly clasped to her breast, and both legs were completely beyond her control and could not be straightened. She was blind, and she had no teeth. Thick, bushy, savage gray hair added to her value as a monstrosity. The nails of her left hand, which lay immovable across her breast, were four inches long, and as the fingers were helplessly turned down, the nails extended above the wrist; her toe nails were equally large.

Joice Heth was sociable, and she could talk intelligibly with any one who would talk with her. She referred to George Washington as “dear little George,” swore that she was present at his birth, and that she was the first person to put clothes on the future father of his country. “In fact,” she told Barnum, and it was one of her favorite expressions, “I raised him.” Mr. Lindsay showed Barnum the bill of sale from Augustine Washington, George Washington’s father, dated February 5, 1727, by which Augustine Washington deeded to his sister-in-law and neighbor, Elizabeth Atwood, “one negro woman, named Joice Heth, aged fifty-four years, for and in consideration of the sum of thirty-three pounds lawful money of Virginia.” Five years later, when George Washington was born, Joice Heth, being an old family nurse, was called in to assist at his arrival and in his subsequent education, according to her story.

All this seemed plausible to Barnum, and the bill of sale did look creased, fragile, and old. Barnum asked how such an old woman with such historic associations had only then come to the public attention, why she had never aroused the curiosity of showmen and audiences before; but when it appeared that she had lived in an outhouse on the Kentucky estate of the Bowling family, the respectable family of the advertisement, Barnum was contented that she was authentic. The discovery of the bill of sale in the Virginia record office by one of the Bowling sons made the family realize the value of its property, Barnum was told. He asked how much a piece of property like Joice Heth might be worth, and the answer was three thousand dollars. At the time he possessed five hundred dollars of his own. He persuaded Lindsay that one thousand dollars was enough, and, returning to New York, he borrowed an additional five hundred dollars and sold his interest in the grocery store. By his contract with Lindsay Barnum came into “the possession of the person of the African woman, Joice Heth,” and Lindsay offered to continue his exhibitions in Philadelphia while Barnum made preparations for her reception in New York. He called upon William Niblo, who did not recognize him as the young man who a few months before had applied for the position of bartender at Niblo’s Garden. Niblo agreed for one-half the receipts of Joice Heth’s exhibition to allow Barnum the use of a room near his saloon, and also paid the expense of whatever printing and advertising was necessary. Levi Lyman, whom he characterized as a “shrewd, sociable, and somewhat indolent Yankee” lawyer of Penn Yan, New York, was engaged by Barnum as his assistant. Lyman wrote a memoir of Joice Heth, and Barnum distributed throughout the city small handbills and posters announcing his phenomenon. The newspapers printed advertisements on the day of her début, written by Barnum, and containing the following partial descriptions of her attractions:

“She is cheerful and healthy, although she weighs but forty-nine pounds. She relates many anecdotes of her young master; she speaks also of the red-coats during the Revolutionary War, but does not appear to hold them in high estimation. She has been visited by crowds of ladies and gentlemen, among whom were many clergymen and physicians, who have pronounced her the most ancient specimen of mortality the oldest of them has ever seen or heard of, and consider her a very great curiosity.” And again: “Joice Heth is unquestionably the most astonishing and interesting curiosity in the world. She was the slave of Augustine Washington (the father of George Washington), and was the first person _who put clothes on the unconscious infant_ who was destined in after days to lead our heroic fathers to glory, to victory, and to freedom. To use her own language when speaking of her young master, George Washington, ‘she raised him.’” (Italics are _always_ Barnum’s.)

The newspapers took up Joice Heth readily. The _New York Evening Star_ wrote: “Her appearance is much like an Egyptian mummy just escaped from its sarcophagus.” And the _New York Daily Advertiser_ said of her: “Ancient or modern times furnish no parallel to the great age of this woman. Methuselah was 969 years old when he died, but nothing is said of the age of his wife. Adam attained nearly the age of his antiquated descendant. It is not unlikely that the sex in the olden time were like the daughters at the present day--unwilling to tell their age. Joice Heth is an exception; she comes out boldly, and says she is rising 160.” Joice Heth was an habitual smoker of a corn cob pipe, and when a reporter of the _Evening Star_ asked her how long she had smoked a pipe, she answered glibly, “One hundred and twenty years.” Barnum acknowledged in his autobiography that Joice Heth taught him many facts about the Washington family which he never knew before.

The gross receipts in New York for the Joice Heth exhibition were $1,500 each week. Visitors continued for some weeks to come to Niblo’s Garden, asked her questions about the Washington family, listened to her sing hymns and discuss theology, and departed satisfied as to her age and previous condition of servitude. After the New York public had paid all the tribute it was likely to pay, Barnum toured New England with his slave, exhibiting at Providence, Boston, and other large cities. In Boston he met Maelzel, who was then exhibiting his automaton chess-player. Barnum enjoyed many conversations with this inventor and showman, whom he regarded as the father of public entertainers. Maelzel told Barnum that he would succeed as a showman, “because you understand the value of the press, and that is the great thing. Nothing helps the showman like the types and the ink.” “When your old woman dies,” he added, “you come to me, and I will make your fortune.”

Barnum kept up a steady stream of publicity concerning Joice Heth, and when the Boston audiences began to decrease in numbers, a notice appeared in one of the newspapers signed, “A Visitor,” in which it was stated that Joice Heth was a humbug, that she was made of india rubber, whalebone, and hidden springs, and that the exhibitor was a ventriloquist, which accounted for her powers of conversation. The presence of Maelzel’s automaton in the same city, in fact, in the same hall, made this announcement more interesting to the public. Those who had not seen Joice Heth went to see the ingenious mechanism, and those who had seen her went again to satisfy themselves that she was not alive. Barnum thus created controversy, which he realized from the beginning of his career was the life of trade in the show business.

While he was exhibiting Joice Heth in Albany, New York, Barnum met a “Signor Antonio,” who balanced crockery and guns with bayonets on his nose, a feat which was a novelty in this country at the time. Signor Antonio told Barnum that he was an Italian by birth, that he had sailed from England to Canada, and that Albany was the first city in the United States where he had ever exhibited his talents in public. Barnum engaged him for one year to perform anywhere in the United States at a salary of $12 per week and his expenses. When Antonio, Joice Heth, Levi Lyman, and Barnum returned to New York, Barnum insisted that Antonio submit to two indignities: first, he must be thoroughly washed, and secondly, he must change his name to Signor Vivalla. A notice soon afterwards appeared in the newspapers that Signor Vivalla, who could do wonders with his nose and on stilts, had just arrived from Italy, and Barnum sent copies of these notices to all the theatrical managers in New York City. The manager of the Franklin Theater called and was favorably impressed with the artist Mr. Barnum said he had just imported from Italy, and a contract was made for the performances of Signor Vivalla in the Franklin Theater at $50 per week. Although Vivalla had spent much time in England, Barnum always refused to allow him to speak English and accompanied him upon the stage to assist him and to explain the tricks to the audience, this being Barnum’s first appearance on any stage. During the second week of Signor Vivalla at the Franklin Theater, he was so popular that Barnum received $150 for his services, and he then took his juggler and balancer to Boston and Washington. Meanwhile, Levi Lyman was exhibiting Joice Heth in New England for Barnum. A snow storm caused bad business for Vivalla’s exhibitions in Washington, and Barnum was forced to pawn his watch and chain for thirty-five dollars in order to get money enough to proceed to Philadelphia. By arousing a controversy there concerning Signor Vivalla’s ability, and by organizing a defiant contest with another performer, whom he paid, Barnum created enough excitement to yield large profits.

In February, 1836, Barnum’s brother sent a message to the boarding house in New York, which Mrs. Barnum was still operating, that Joice Heth, who had been resting at Bethel after an illness, was dead. The body was sent to Barnum in New York. He called upon a well-known New York surgeon, who had once expressed a desire to hold a post-mortem examination of Joice Heth, if she should not prove to be immortal. The body was dissected before a large and distinguished company of doctors, clergymen, and editors, and the operating surgeon found an absence of ossification of the arteries in the region of the heart, leading him to the opinion, he told Barnum and Levi Lyman privately, that Joice Heth was probably not more than eighty years old. Thus with a few strokes of a surgeon’s knife were dispelled all the eye-witness stories of the birth and youth of George Washington, and apparently the surgeon did not keep his opinion private, for _The Sun_ on the day following the operation printed the story of the dissection and accused Barnum of fraud in Joice Heth’s age. Levi Lyman, interested in playing jokes on editors, then called upon James Gordon Bennett, and told him that as a matter of fact Joice Heth had never died, that she was still living in Connecticut, and that the dissection had been performed on the body of an old Harlem negress. Bennett was thankful for the story and printed these revelations in full. When his story was emphatically denied by the surgeon, Levi Lyman offered to give the editor the real inside history of Joice Heth. He told Bennett that Barnum had invented Joice Heth’s background and had taught her the hymns and instructed her in the George Washington family history. Bennett printed this account, and that story was generally accepted thereafter as the truth about Joice Heth. Barnum himself never denied any of these stories until twenty years later, when in his first autobiography he told the facts as they have been presented here. Barnum inaugurated then a policy which he maintained throughout his long public career, namely, never to contradict any implication, nor to protest against any epithet. When people read that Joice Heth was a fraud perpetrated upon their credulity by Barnum, what must have impressed them most in the controversy was Barnum’s cleverness, and it was for the general propagation of this impression that he was striving always. “... Never, until the present writing,” he said in his autobiography, “have I said or written a word by way of contradiction or correction. Newspaper and social controversy on the subject (and seldom have vastly more important matters been so largely discussed) served my purpose as ‘a showman’ by keeping my name before the public.” Joice Heth was buried respectably at Bethel, Connecticut. She must be regarded as one of the most interesting of Barnum’s ventures, not only because she was the first of her kind, but because of his unique exploitation of her repulsive qualities, even though in the fullness of his mature notoriety he grew to be ashamed of her and of his own lowly origin in the field of showmanship; he referred to her in the last edition of his autobiography as “the least deserving of all my efforts in the show line....”

Some years after the death of Joice Heth, R. W. Lindsay, who sold Barnum the negress, lost all his money and became ill. Barnum wrote the following letter, which throws interesting light upon the Joice Heth episode, and still more interesting light on Barnum’s character:

“MR. BAKER:

“Dear Sir.--Yours of the 3rd inst. has been forwarded to me. Please read and then seal the enclosed to Lindsay. I send along $100, which I wish you to use in the best possible manner for _his benefit_. I really expect that if he had the money himself, he would lay it out foolishly, and that if a little pains was taken to get him into a Hospital in Boston or elsewhere that money, or less, would procure for him a _permanent cure_ and then leave him in health to look out for himself. If he is allowed to _live out_ this $100 in food and clothing he will soon be begging again and the relief will be but _temporary_. I earnestly trust that you will try to have this prove a _real_ benefit to him. On reflection perhaps he had better not receive my letter, nor know that you have got my check, until you have got it cashed, and looked about and determined how it is best to use it. His assertions that I understand he has made to others that I am under obligations to him are _ridiculously false_. I never had anything to do with him except to buy from him in _perfect good faith_ and pay him the money for an old _negress_, which he falsely represented as the ‘Nurse of Washington’ and which he imposed on me as such, by aid of a _forged Bill of Sale_ purporting to have been made by the _father_ of George Washington. I honestly _believed_ all this and exhibited accordingly as Lindsay had done for months previous--finally she died and the imposition became manifest, and _I_ have ever since borne the stigma of _originating_ that imposture. I never denied it before--but I might have done so truly. This is all the ‘obligation’ I am under to Lindsay, but he is a poor devil, and I hope to see him recover. Please take his receipt or some acknowledgment when he receives the benefit of this sum if convenient--if not--no matter. I would be pleased to hear from you at Charleston, S. C. Truly yours,

“P. T. BARNUM.”[2]

If Barnum would have us believe that he bought Joice Heth “in _perfect good faith_,” that he “_believed_ all this,” he must convince us that suddenly at the age of twenty-five his mind developed an artlessness and gullibility which it had never had even during his boyhood, and which it did not manifest during his later career.

III

Barnum and his Italian continued to travel about New England, New York, and New Jersey, but with poor success, for juggling, balancing crockery, and walking on stilts were as nothing compared to just being 161 years old, and the public were more interested in the family history of George Washington than in feats of skill and accuracy; there is also reason to believe that Signor Vivalla’s skill was not vastly entertaining.

In April of 1836 Barnum met Aaron Turner, one of the early circus proprietors of America. They formed a partnership by which Barnum became ticket-seller, secretary, and treasurer of Turner’s traveling circus at $30 per month and twenty per cent. of the net receipts. He was also to receive $50 per month for the services of Signor Vivalla. Charity and their small daughter Caroline returned to Bethel, and Barnum toured the country with Turner’s circus, traveling in New England, the middle Atlantic states, and some of the South.

Turner may be regarded as one of Barnum’s masters, in so far as he had any at all. Barnum listened with approval as Turner told him and the rest of the company that any man of health with common sense was capable of making a fortune. “Who am I?” he used to say. “I don’t know who I am, or where I came from. I never had father or mother that I know of.... What little I can read I picked up myself after I was eighteen years old; and as for writing I used at first to make my mark, but being a poor devil I had to give my note so often that I finally learned to write my name.”

Turner was another active practical joker, and Barnum once more found himself in an atmosphere where that type of humor won great applause. Upon one occasion a joke of Turner’s endangered Barnum’s life. The company was in Annapolis, Maryland. The murder in Rhode Island of a Miss Cornell had aroused the entire population of the eastern states against the accused, the Rev. Ephraim K. Avery, who had been acquitted in the face of general conviction of his guilt. Turner pointed out Barnum to some of the loungers in the bar-room of the Annapolis hotel as the Rev. Ephraim K. Avery, incognito. The bar-room was quickly emptied as the righteous Maryland townsmen started after Barnum with the intention of taking the Rhode Island law into their own hands. He was roughly seized and informed of the intention of the mob to tar and feather him, which process was to be followed by a regulation lynching. When Barnum protested that he was Barnum, the name being then unknown, the outraged citizens refused to listen. It was only with great difficulty that he persuaded these enraged advocates of direct action to return with him to the hotel and confront Aaron Turner with his own hoax. Turner told the mob, which had been increased by fifty or sixty persons as Barnum was marched up the main street to the hotel, that “he believed there was some mistake about it. The fact is my friend Barnum has a new suit of black clothes on, and it makes him look so much like a priest I concluded it must be Avery.” The mob, appreciative of Turner’s joke, dispersed, but Barnum was left with his new coat torn off his back and his other clothes damaged from the rolling in the dirt which he had received at the hands of the mob. When he became angry with Turner, the showman said: “My dear Barnum, it was all for our good. Remember, all we need to insure success is _notoriety_. You will see that the whole town will be talking about the trick played by one of the circus managers on the other, and our pavilion will be crammed to-morrow night.” The pavilion was crammed the next night, but Barnum was incapable of considering impersonally the value of such dangerous personal publicity.

The character of Aaron Turner was the most important early influence that shaped Barnum’s own methods, excepting his own boyhood environment in Connecticut. Turner’s procedure in the face of difficulties, his insane love of a practical joke, his insistence upon notoriety at any cost, gave Barnum the first lessons in the school of which he himself was to become the master. Upon one occasion the company arrived at Hanover Court House, near Richmond, Virginia, during a storm. It was impossible to give the show, and Turner purposed to move on to Richmond, but the landlord at Hanover Court House insisted that since an agent of the circus had engaged rooms and three meals for the entire company of thirty-six, he must be paid for those conveniences whether or not they were used. This argument arose just before the noon meal. Turner tried persuasion, but the landlord was firm. He therefore ordered dinner, which was promptly eaten by the whole company. As soon as the table was cleared, supper for thirty-six was ordered for half-after noon. After the thirty-six had eaten as much as possible of the supper, Turner ordered lighted candles for every member of the company, and directed that they all go to their rooms and get into bed at one o’clock in the afternoon. Half an hour later they dressed and went down to breakfast, which Turner had ordered for two o’clock sharp. They ate as much as possible under the circumstances, and at half-past two the company left for Richmond. Turner insisted upon carrying out this program with due solemnity in spite of the protests of the landlord and the convulsive mirth of his own performers.

Barnum, having received $1,200 as his share of the profits, separated from his partner after a few months, and organized his own traveling circus, consisting of Vivalla, musicians, and a negro singer and dancer. With these performers, his horses and wagons and a small canvas tent, Barnum started on a tour of the South. On this tour he exhibited a personal versatility that is interesting in the light of the later triumph of his personality. When his company reached Rocky Mount Falls, North Carolina, on a Sunday, Barnum delivered an inspiring sermon before the population of the town, after its regular clergyman had finished his services. He assured the congregation, “We cannot violate the laws of God with impunity, and he will not keep back the wages of well-doing.... Diamonds may glitter on a vicious breast, but the soul’s calm sunshine and the heartfelt joy is virtue’s prize.” In Camden, South Carolina, the negro singer, Sandford, left Barnum without notice, just before the show. The audience must not be disappointed, and so the Barnum who had played the clergyman the previous Sunday blacked his face thoroughly and sang the songs advertised, including “Zip Coon,” “The Raccoon Hunt, or Sitting on a Rail,” and “Gittin’ Up Stairs.” Many of the congregation came up after the prayer meeting to congratulate the impromptu preacher, some even to take down his name; and the coon songs were encored vigorously.

Aaron Turner disbanded his circus soon after Barnum left him, and Barnum bought some of its equipment for his own show. He also hired another negro singer to relieve him of the part, which he had taken every day since the departure of the original, giving the impression successfully to most of his audiences in Southern territory that he was a real negro. Barnum added Joe Pentland, clown, ventriloquist, comic singer, and legerdemain artist, to his company, and the enlarged show was known as “Barnum’s Grand Scientific and Musical Theater,” the first traveling show to carry the name of P. T. Barnum. In May, 1837, Barnum’s company disbanded at Nashville, Tennessee, because of poor business. After a short trip to New York, he took his circus into Kentucky and down the Mississippi, to New Orleans, where it was finally disbanded; Barnum returned to New York, disgusted at the lack of opportunities to make money with a traveling show.

IV

Barnum advertised in the New York newspapers that he had $2,500 to invest in a reliable business and wanted a partner with such an organized business. He received ninety-three answers, one third from saloonkeepers and the rest from interesting miscellaneous promoters. One man was a counterfeiter and needed Barnum’s $2,500, he admitted, to purchase paper, ink, and new dies. Finally Barnum entered into partnership with Proler, a German manufacturer of water-proof blacking for boots, Cologne water, and bear’s grease. Proler took charge of the factory, and Barnum opened a store on the Bowery, where he sold the products of the factory. Their capital, that is, Barnum’s money, was soon absorbed, and Barnum sold his interest to his partner, taking Proler’s note for $2,600. Before his note came due, Proler sailed for Rotterdam, and Barnum was left with nothing for his $2,500 but four recipes, one for bear’s grease, which grew hair on a bald head, one for Cologne water, one for blacking, and one for water-proof paste.[3]

Without money again, Barnum was also without employment in the spring of 1840. He hired the saloon of Vauxhall Garden in New York and offered a variety performance, in which Mary Taylor, later one of the country’s favorites, first appeared in New York. Jack Diamond, the first, and for a long time the most popular, dancer of negro dances in this country, also performed under Barnum’s management. But the Vauxhall Garden venture did not make money, and after less than two months Barnum was forced to close his show. He hated the thought of once more becoming a traveling showman, separated from family, but he had just enough money left for one more trial at this business, and he took Master Jack Diamond, the dancer, a fiddler, and a delineator of Yankee characters on a tour of Canada, New York State, and the Northwest. They finally reached New Orleans, and Barnum had $100. He had left New York with that amount, so that his four months’ tour had yielded nothing but expenses. In New Orleans the receipts were good, but Master Diamond, who had borrowed large sums from Barnum, absconded, and Barnum returned to New York in April, 1841, determined never to leave it again in the capacity of traveling showman.

He was thirty-one years old, and had had varied experiences, but no success. The foundation of his subsequent career was being laid, but up to this time the small accident which starts one on the way to partial realization of dreams had not yet happened to him. Barnum had tried vigorously to contribute by his enterprise to his success, but the financial depression that reigned throughout the country during this period, together with losses sustained by the duplicity of a partner, or the state of the weather, caused him to find himself at the age of thirty-one in the same financial position he had occupied upon his arrival in New York five years before.

On his way back to New York Barnum read in a Pittsburg newspaper an advertisement for _Sears’ Pictorial Illustrations of The Bible_, and three days after his return to the city he called upon Robert Sears, its publisher. For $500 Barnum received 500 copies of the book and received the agency for its sale in the United States. He opened an office in New York, advertised widely, and in six months he had sold several thousand copies of the book; but he had appointed agents and sub-agents in other cities, who cheated him of all his profits and also of his capital. For the third time he was swindled because of his trust in other people. Only after serious financial losses, and not until late in life, did Barnum learn to question the integrity of those he was forced to trust. It is doubtful if he ever gave up an implicit faith in man’s innate righteousness, for a skeptical opinion of mankind, although it might be justified by his continual experiences, would clash with his sincere piety, and his earnest belief that the dead shall be raised. Virtue, to him, undoubtedly bore its own reward, and he seldom guarded against the attempt to cheat him out of it.

Soon his funds were completely exhausted, and Barnum sought any kind of employment and found none that was lucrative. At the age of thirty-one, with a wife and two daughters to support, and a third daughter in prospect, he was compelled to grasp at straws, and he wrote advertisements for the Bowery Amphitheater at four dollars per week. He added to this by means of occasional articles which he wrote for the Sunday newspapers. Heretofore theatrical managers had most of them contented themselves with announcements in the newspapers of the names of their plays and the names of their performers, and Barnum was one of the first men in the United States to realize the power of the paid adjective in advertising theatrical attractions. Adjectives were lavished at this time on patent medicines, and the advertising columns in the newspapers of the day were made up largely of extravagant praise of pills by their makers. Theaters were sparing in their advertisements. His daily visits to the newspaper offices for the purpose of inserting his advertisements made him acquainted at this time with those persons who were to contribute so much to his success during the rest of his life by advertising his wares, not least of which was his personality.